


Worse Than the Disease

by PaigeTurner



Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Minor Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Pseudo-Science, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-11 11:23:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaigeTurner/pseuds/PaigeTurner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which something is wrong with Natasha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Moving day at Avengers’ Tower was a pitifully small event. In addition to space, Tony had offered everyone furniture. Clint and Natasha, who had the most stuff, had so little that they split a small trailer. Steve hadn’t owned much before his crash into the arctic and long decades of being presumed dead left him with no worldly possessions at all. SHIELD, particularly Coulson, had supplied him with a few basics and enough funding to get whatever he needed or wanted, but there still wasn’t much. Bruce walked in with a backpack. 

“Do you need help unloading the rest of your stuff? Tony offered. 

Bruce shook his head and smiled wanly. “This is all of my stuff.”

“That’s a backpack,” Tony pointed out.

“It’s a hiking pack,” Bruce defended his luggage. 

“How?”

“Emotional baggage doesn’t take up any cargo space,” Natasha answered. 

“That,” Bruce agreed. “Plus years of practice. I’ve got my tablet, toiletries and a week’s worth of clothes in there. I even have a spare pair of shoes.”

“It’s more than I had when I joined SHIELD,” Natasha remarked. 

“Not counting the emotional baggage,” Clint teased.

“Let’s order pizza,” Steve suggested.

Dinner in the newly minted Avengers Tower was pizza, beer for everyone but Bruce, breadsticks and, at Pepper’s insistence, salad. Dinner present Clint with his first hint that something was wrong. Natasha ate half a piece of pizza, didn’t touch her beer and excused herself early. He watched her walk away with a little frown. Was she pale or was it just that her hair was still dyed darker from a recent mission? Had she lost weight or was it the bagginess of her moving day clothes that made her frame look so slight?

“I’m going to try to convince Nat to join us for a movie, I’ll be back in a few, unless she kills me,” Clint announced as soon as he was done eating. 

“Bruce and I will determine what piece of cinematic history to inflict on our fearless leader,” Tony replied. 

Clint found Natasha stretched out on her new couch, in her new apartment, reading a dog-eared copy of The Hobbit.

“The rest of the team is going to watch a movie. I bet we could convince them to put that on, if you want to join,” he offered with a nod to her book.

Natasha shrugged noncommittally. “I’m pretty tired, packing, moving, unpacking. I’ll probably just read a couple chapters, shower and turn in.”

“You okay?” Clint asked.

“Just tired.” She managed a faint smile for his benefit.

Clint studied her face for a moment. The tightness at the corners of her eyes told him something else was wrong. She looked pained. "Headache?" he guessed.

"Yeah," Natasha admitted after a pause. It wasn't her head. Her whole body ached. Her bones felt like they were made of shards of glass, her muscles quivered and twinged. In fact, aside from a comparatively mild tension headache and a sense of eyestrain, her head didn't feel bad at all. 

Clint knew it was bad if Natasha was not only displaying her pain but acknowledging it. He decided to let it slide, maybe she'd pulled a muscle moving her library and didn't want to admit it. 

"Get some rest," he advised. He joined the others for movie night but he didn't stop worrying about Natasha. He started keeping tabs on her. He noticed that she seldom joined them for movies or games. He noticed she consistently wasn't eating as much as usual. She looked tired. There were always dark circles under her eyes that her makeup couldn't quite hide. That pinched look around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth was present more and more. When she declined a sparring match a month after they'd moved into the tower, he almost insisted on the spot that she go to medical. 

It was four months after the move before anyone else had an inkling that something was wrong. They were fighting robots, crablike in appearance but the size of a coffee table. As a team, they'd been getting better at working and fighting together but Natasha's timing was off. Clint was the only one who could've attributed what happened specifically to Natasha's timing. Steve blamed himself. Tony and Bruce chalked it up to bad luck. Steve threw his shield. It ricocheted off a robot and hit Natasha in the back, glancing off her right shoulder before returning to the Captain. She dropped the gun in her right hand and fell to her knees, but kept shooting with her left. She missed, frequently, but didn't quit. 

It wasn't until the last robot was a sparking heap of parts that Natasha requested medical through gritted teeth. Her scapula had fractured, along with several ribs, and her right arm was dislocated. Steve had fresh flowers sent daily while she was in medical. Clint got her a teddy bear in a Captain America costume and a toy dart gun. The injury healed and in a month's time, she was back to her usual routines. A few weeks after that, everyone had put the incident out of their minds. Except Clint. 

Clint kept watching Natasha. She was thinner, paler, slower and weaker. The tension lines around her eyes and lips that were markers of pain had become a permanent fixture, as had the dark circles and puffiness under her eyes. Her movements, especially in combat, had lost the fluidity and grace Clint was accustomed to seeing. She wasn't awkward, exactly, but she seemed stiffer. The signs were subtle: a wince here, a flinch there; and Clint didn’t know what they added up to. 

***

“Agent Romanov, are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” she lied unconvincingly. 

“Because,” the doctor added, looking down at the papers in his hands, “I’ve never seen blood work like this before.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Well, you’re anemic for one, and you haven’t been in the past. Your red counts are low, your white counts high, too much plasma, not enough platelets…”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I’d like to run a few further tests, but it might help if I had some other symptoms to go with this blood work.”

“Fatigue, loss of appetite, moodiness and chronic pain,” Natasha reported.

“What kind of pain?”

“In my bones and joints mostly. Some muscle aches and weakness. And a weird sensitivity in my skin, like a combination bruise and sunburn.”

“I’m going to draw a couple more vials of blood for some testing,” the doctor declared. “In the meantime, let’s attack this symptomatically. I’m giving you a sleep aid, a painkiller and an appetite stimulant.”

Natasha gave him a dubious stare. “You know I won’t actually take any of that, right?”

“And why not, Agent Romanov?”

“It’ll slow me down, cloud my mind, bog down my reflexes. I can’t afford that.”

“Tell me how you’re not already slow, clouded, bogged and distracted. The medications can help.”

“I’ll consider it,” she replied and she took the prescription slip. 

“I’ll call you when we get results.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which anything that can go wrong, will. And oh how it goes wrong.

“Definitely abandoned,” Clint declared.

“Looks like it has been for quite some time,” Natasha agreed. “Also looks like they left in a hurry, so let’s just see if they left anything behind.”

“I’ll take the upper level, you kids take the main floor, Tash, you got the basement,” Clint decided. One of the junior agents looked like he was going to object to being referred to as ‘you kids’ but thought better of it. 

“Clint, we’re supposed to keep them with us,” Natasha replied. “Take Jepsen. Van Vranken, you’re with me on this level. We’ll all hit the basement after we’ve cleared our floors.” She shook her head at Clint for trying to ditch the younger agents and took off, forcing Agent Van Vranken to scramble after her.

Clint waited until Natasha was out of earshot. “You, basement.” He pointed at Agent Jepsen firmly. 

“But Agent Romanoff said-“

“I will shoot you. And blame it on some long-laid Hydra trap.” Clint watched the junior agent scurry to the stairwell. “F’ing kids. I hate working with amateurs.”

The four agents explored the base, hoping to find anything that would lead them to Hydra’s current operations. 

“This reminds me of something,” Natasha said quietly, standing in front of a small metal chamber. She pulled the door open and peered inside. 

Meanwhile, downstairs, Agent Jepsen had found the generator. “Sweet,” he whispered to himself. “Let’s see if we can get some damn power on.”

Clint frowned when the lights came on. “Heads up,” he called over the comm. “This place might not be as abandoned as we thought.”

“That was me,” Jepsen responded gleefully. 

Brilliant cyan light and a low hum filled the room Romanov and Van Vranken were investigating. 

“Shut it back off!” Clint snapped. 

“I thought--,” Agent Jepsen began to object. 

“If I have to come down there,” Clint growled into his communicator. 

The base went dark. 

“Thank you,” Clint huffed.

“Um, I didn’t actually, I think a fuse blew,” the junior agent replied sheepishly.

“Get your soon-to-be-demoted ass upstairs,” Barton ordered. “Romanov, Van Vranken, everything okay with you two?”

There was no response from the other agents. Clint cautiously made his way back to the main floor, no telling what sort of security measures might have come on line when the kid turned on the power. 

“-gent Barton, Agent Jepsen, does anyone copy?” Van Vranken’s voice crackled over the comm line.

“I copy,” Barton said. “You all right?”

“Um, Romanov’s down. Stuff just powered up on its own…” the junior agent sounded slightly panicked.

Clint didn’t hear anything he said after ‘Romanov’s down’ and broke into a run without being aware of it. He forgot about potential traps, cameras, turrets, everything except getting to Natasha as quickly as possible. 

His eyes widened when he saw her. He took a knee next to Agent Van Vranken and checked Natasha’s pulse. “Ok,” Clint said calmly. “This is what is going to happen. I’m dropping you two back at the helicarrier. No one is going to say anything about what just happened. The mission was a bust, nothing of interest here. I’m going to take her to the tower and figure out what happened. And how to fix it.”

“Is that really Agent Romanov?” Van Vranken asked. 

Clint looked down at the unconscious figure on the floor. She was young, younger than he’d ever known her, but her features were unmistakable. He studied the strange metal chamber that loomed over them for a moment before scooping the girl into his arms. She was lighter than he expected and her uniform sagged and bunched, awkwardly oversized on her small frame.

***

“So,” Clint began. “I don’t know if this some sort of weird time-travel thing or some sort weird reverse-aging thing but I figure Bruce and Tony have the best shot at figuring this out. It was Hydra technology, Saul said there was some bluish-greenish light and a ‘computer fan hum’ sound coming from a big metal box.”

“That’s not much to go on,” Tony complained.

“Yeah, I know,” Clint shook his head.

“Are the handcuffs really necessary? Bruce asked. “She’s just a little girl.”

“She’s not just anything,” Clint corrected. “Natasha made her first kill when she was ten. She’s dangerous.”

“And all my reputation needs is underage girls in bondage on my property,” Tony remarked sarcastically.

“Clint’s right,” Steve interjected. “She might not recognize us, who knows if she’ll even remember the past…however many years. She’d be well within her rights to consider -- Tony, what are you doing?”

Tony was leaning over Natasha. “I want to take a look at her arm where we drew blood.” He pulled her skin taught with one hand and began picking at the edge of the bandage with his fingernail.

“Um, well within her rights to consider us as threats,” Steve concluded.

Natasha’s hands lay loosely crossed on her abdomen. They stayed completely relaxed even while her knee drove into Tony’s side, knocking his breath out in a hoarse gasp. She slithered out from under him as he pitched forward and leapt behind him, slipping her bound wrists over his head and pulling the chain of the cuffs up against his throat. 

Tony clawed frantically at the chain, eyes wide as his ability to breathe dwindled. 

“Do not let her get out of the tower,” Clint shouted. 

Bruce went to the door of the lab and put his hands on either side of the doorway. Facing off against their prisoner would be a last resort. 

Steve charged in and Natasha’s foot popped up and struck him squarely in the solar plexus. The super soldier doubled over and Natasha kicked him again, this time across the temple, without loosening her hold on Tony. 

Clint stepped in quickly to catch her leg before she could kick Steve a third time. 

She shrieked at him in Russian as he moved behind her, twisting her leg to lock out the joints. Steve shook his head sharply and grabbed the chain of the handcuffs, freeing Tony and pulling Natasha’s hands up above her head. He nearly lifted her off the ground. 

“I will give you nothing,” Natasha shouted, her voice heavily accented.

“Great,” Clint replied. “Because we don’t want anything from you.” 

“We’re your friends, Natasha,” Steve explained. 

“I have no friends,” she insisted. She spat in his face and steeled herself for the consequences. 

He wiped his cheek with the heel of his free hand. “Any bright ideas, Barton?”

“Yes, actually,” Clint smiled. “Her badge is in a pouch on her belt. Front right--her right, Cap, not yours,” he clarified as Steve reached for it. “Show her,” he urged.

Steve carefully opened the leather case one handed and glanced at the badge before holding it up in front of Natasha. She frowned at the photograph.

“Who is she?"

Bruce inched forward, kneeling to tend to Tony. 

“She’s you,” Clint answered, peering over her shoulder. “You’re her, or you will be.”

“It’s fake,” Natasha announced. “You fools spelt my name wrong.”

“You agreed to Americanize it a little,” Clint replied.

“Why?”

Phil had asked her to; he thought it would make it easier for the agents who had once been her enemies to accept her. She would’ve done anything Phil asked, to some rather frightening extremes. But Phil was gone and it was too long an explanation. Clint and Steve couldn't restrain her forever. Clint did what he'd sworn to himself he never would.

“Alianova,” he exhaled the word right into her ear. He followed it with a short sentence in Russian about the web-building habits of spiders. She relaxed instantly. 

“What are your orders?” She asked; this time her voice was small, deferential. 

“If I let you go, are you going to attack us?”

“No sir.”

***

Two days later, they were no closer to an answer and Clint had to go shopping for clothes that would fit their tiny assassin. Everything in Natasha’s closet hung off her and had the unfortunate effect of making her look even younger. 

A week later, they were no closer to an answer and it was getting harder to keep Fury and the rest of SHIELD from getting suspicious about Natasha’s whereabouts. Both Bruce and Steve avoided the girl as much as possible but Tony actually seemed to like her.

“She’s smarter than I ever gave Natasha credit for,” he remarked. “I mean, she’s not a genius like me, or even Bruce, but she’s clever. She reminds me of me, you know, when I was that age.”

Clint snorted. “Natasha, our grown-up Natasha, expends a lot of effort into making people comfortable. More than you might think. I hate to break it to you, Tony, but nobody really likes someone who acts like he’s smarter than everyone else.”

“I am smarter than everyone else,” Tony retorted.

“You think Fury would’ve let her live if he thought she was smarter than he is? But young Nat, she would be more interested in showing off the best of everything at her disposal to impress her supervisors. Hence, her being smarter than you expected.”

“Okay, I think that’s actually even a level of unexpected above and beyond what I’ve observed.”

“Well, watch your back, Stark, because she’s also stronger, faster and more devious than you expect.”

***

“Clint?” Bruce’s timid voice interrupted the agent’s thoughts.

“Mm?” Clint replied without looking up. He was making some fiddly adjustments to his favored bow. 

“Did Natasha say anything to you about,” Bruce paused awkwardly, “well, being sick?”

Clint froze. Slowly, he met Bruce’s eyes. “What do you mean sick?”

“It’s not my place to tell you anything that she didn’t,” Bruce responded diplomatically.

“I knew it,” Clint whispered to himself. “How sick? What’s wrong?”

Bruce shook his head. “I thought she might’ve mentioned something to you, obviously she didn’t, and I’ve said too much.”

Clint stood up and stalked towards Bruce. His gaze flickered to Bruce’s tablet and Bruce clutched the device a little closer. “Let me see that,” Clint demanded. 

“I am trying to respect her privacy,” Bruce explained, but he didn’t stop Clint from taking the tablet. He waited patiently while the archer skimmed the files. “Tony hacked SHIELD, again.”

“What does this mean?”

“You guys do realize I’m not a medical-“

“What does it mean?” Clint’s tone was insistent.

“I’m not sure. It’s clearly some sort of degenerative…illness. That’s a huge part of the problem, there’s no clear diagnosis, just a collection of symptoms. Probably autoimmune, could be late-onset genetic disorder. I was hoping you might have more information, something that wasn’t in the file.”

Clint shook his head. “She said she was fine. She said it was no big deal, just a headache, just tired, nothing to worry about.” Anger built in his voice. “She lied.” He let Bruce take the tablet back. “This is something to worry about, isn’t it?” The anger broke into concern and fear.

“Well,” Bruce hedged. “Her doctor started some sort of treatment. I’m not familiar with it; I’m assuming it’s experimental or SHIELD proprietary. In fact, I also wanted to get your opinion on consulting her doctor about her current condition.”

“No. Absolutely not. No one at SHIELD can know about this.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things go from bad to worse but back again. Also in which there's totally something going on between Tony and Steve if you look for it, but this fic isn't about them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags, it gets a might dark here.

“Sir?” Jarvis’s voice interrupted Tony’s thoughts. “Miss Romanova is circumventing the security protocols.”

“What?” Tony shouted. “How?”

“Manually. She picked the lock.” 

“Damnit. Is she still on the property? I’m on my way.” Tony wasn’t exactly on his way.

The Avengers were busy fighting another round of ridiculous robots. He couldn’t just leave when the team was already short one person. 

“I am unable to detect her on any of the sensors and she is not carrying her cellular phone.”

“Fuck a duck,” Tony muttered. He switched over the team comm channel. “Alright, fellows, we need to wrap this up.”

“Something wrong?” Steve’s commanding Captain America voice responded. He wasn’t even winded. 

“I’m hungry, let’s just scrap these things so we can get home.” If he told the truth, Barton would bail on them. Tony could practically hear Steve roll his eyes over the comm. They did seem to kick things up a notch, taking down the remaining robots with extreme prejudice. Tony just hoped that finding Natasha would take precedence over murdering him for lying once Clint found out she was missing.

***

“What was she doing before she left?” Clint asked.

“Reading her mail,” Jarvis replied. 

Clint made a beeline for Natasha’s apartment and found a large, heavy duty, cream-colored envelope on her kitchen counter. “She got a mission packet.”

“I knew we should’ve told SHIELD what happened,” Steve stated, clearly kicking himself.

“Does it say where they sent her?”

“Well, it would, if she hadn’t taken the whole thing with her,” Clint snapped. 

“No problem. Jarvis? Still got that backdoor into SHIELD’s files?”

“Currently inaccessible. I should be able to gain access in,” there was a brief pause as the AI calculated. “Seven hours and twenty three minutes.”

“She could get herself killed in that timeframe,” Steve objected. 

Clint was already halfway to the elevator, with his phone pressed to his ear. “Hill, I need to know what Romanov’s working on. You owe me.”

“Barton, wait up,” Tony called after him. “We can help.”

***

Clint carefully popped the skylight out of its frame and set the pane of glass on the rooftop. His feet had no sooner hit the plush Turkish rug when he heard a scream. He listened carefully at the door before slipping out into the hallway and making his way toward the sound. There was only one room with the light on and the door was standing open. He cautiously stole a glance inside. 

One man sprawled on the carpet, his neck apparently broken. Natasha was bent over the smooth walnut surface of a desk. Her face was pressed to the wood by large hand tangled in her hair. The same man had one of her wrists pinned under his other hand. Another had his fingers wrapped around her opposite wrist, her pinky on that hand was broken and he was wiggling her ring finger, flexing the tiny digit between his thumb and forefinger. Four more men surrounded the desk, looming over Natasha.

“You think our little intruder’s a virgin?” The man holding her wrist asked in a mocking tone.

“I think I can make her bleed either way,” another replied. “Last chance,” he hissed, “Who do you work for?” He stepped in close behind her, wrapping his hands around her hips.

Clint pulled on a pair of goggles and a gas mask and took two smoke grenades from his belt. 

“Go to hell,” Natasha spat. The man reached under her, unfastening her jeans and yanked them down as she struggled.

“Grab her ankles,” he ordered. The grenades made no sound as they landed on the carpet and a soft hiss when the smoke began pouring out of them. The quiet thump of an arrow striking its target was followed by the louder thud of a man hitting the floor. 

“Somebody’s here,” one of the men shouted. His voice made it easy for Clint to target him through the thickening smoke. A couple of gun shots rang out. Another man fell. When the first charged out of the room, Clint was more than ready, and the man ran right into his knife. Clint forced the blade up, through the diaphragm, and twisted it as he pulled it out. A gun emerged through the doorway and Clint grabbed it, broke the arm that held it and turned it on its wielder. Clint heard glass break and another gun shot. With the window broken, the smoke began to clear as quickly as it filled the room. He entered the room and found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. 

“Clint?” Natasha’s voice shook almost as badly as her hands as she lowered the weapon. He had to smile when he realized she’d taken out the last man. He pulled off the mask and goggles. 

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Natasha collapsed against him with a sob. 

***

Bruce carefully taped Natasha’s broken finger to its neighbor. He handed her an icepack as he put away the tape and scissors. “Any other injuries I should be aware of?”

“No,” Natasha shook her head. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“You make it sound like I’m in trouble,” Natasha observed with a nervous little smile.

“No, nothing like that. It’s just that I’m having a little trouble figuring out some of the information in your file,” Bruce replied. 

“I guess I could try to answer any questions you have.”

“Actually, you’d been seeing a doctor at SHIELD. It reads like you’ve been pretty ill. I’d like your permission to talk to him,” Bruce explained.  
“My permission?” Natasha repeated.  
“I know you value your privacy but, well, it seems serious and I don’t recognize the treatment protocols he refers to in your chart.”

Natasha frowned. “How ill?”

“There’s not a diagnosis listed.”

Natasha raised her eyebrows at him. 

“If these treatments don’t work, your entire body is degenerating. It’s as though you’re,” Bruce paused and Natasha could see something click into place in his mind. “Aging rapidly. Loss of bone density, loss of muscle mass, dementia… I really need to talk to this doctor.”

“Then do it.”

***

“There you are.” He could hear a trace of a smile in Natasha’s voice and Clint set his bow down and turned away from the range to face her.

“What’s up?”

“I wanted to thank you.” There was an intense, almost predatory gleam in her eyes. That familiar expression on her very young face made Clint very uncomfortable.

“You don’t have to,” he assured her.

“You saved me.” There was a breathy hint of hero worship in her voice.

“We save each other’s butts on a pretty regular basis. It’s no big deal.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders sagged a little. “Well, this was a big deal to me. If you hadn’t been there…” she trailed off with a shudder. 

“But I was there. I always will be,” Clint promised. “If there’s ever something you need, you can come to me. If you’re hurt or scared or you feel alone, I’ll be there for you.”

She looked up at him shyly and tucked a curl behind her ear. With a ghost of a smile, she swiftly and gracefully rose up on her toes, wrapping one hand behind his neck to pull him down to her and kissed him. For a moment, he was paralyzed. There was nothing but the mentholated tingle of her lip balm and her thin, cold fingers against the bare skin above his collar. Then he broke free and pushed her away, perhaps a little more brusquely than was necessary. 

“Don’t,” Clint said firmly.

“Why not?” 

“You-you’re just a kid,” he objected.

“I’m not just anything,” Natasha retorted.

“How old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

He sighed and shook his head.

“I’m not like other girls, Clint. I’m not innocent or sweet or childish at all. I’m an assassin and a spy. And probably someday soon a whore. It’s only a matter of time before what almost happened last night happens to me for real. No matter what say, you won’t be there. I just thought maybe before that happens, I could experience things the way they should be. I could feel what’s like without fear or pain or someone’s life on the line. I thought you could give me that and I could keep it with me and you would be with me, here,” she tapped her chest, “with me, even when you aren’t.” Her eyes were shining wet and her voice cracked and trembled as spoke. 

“I can’t.”

“Because I’m just a kid,” she spat bitterly.

“Because I can’t change the past. I’m sorry, Tash.” He slipped past her, walking quickly and not looking back. He didn’t stop walking until he got to the elevator. Clint went straight to the lab.

“How’s it coming?” he looked at Bruce and Tony expectantly.

“Well, if we had a damn clue what actually caused this, it’d probably be easier to reverse,” Tony answered. “Maybe we can just adopt her. You know, she hasn’t tried to kill me once since she got de-aged?”

“No,” Clint said firmly. “We need to fix this, like, yesterday.”

“Has something happened?” Bruce asked.

“She, uh, tried to put the moves on me.”

“Well, that’s unsettling,” Tony replied. “I think I have to see the machine. The thing in the hydra base that caused all this.”

***

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Clint whispered.

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s not,” Tony replied. “But we’ve got exactly nothing else to go on.”

They carefully made their way through the HYDRA base to the room where Clint had found young Natasha. 

“Okay,” Clint said. “There’s the thing.”

Tony set to work quickly dismantling the strange metal box. The camera in his helmet recorded every detail; he’d be able to create a virtual copy of the device in his lab at the tower. Clint stood guard while he worked. It took about 20 minutes for Tony to completely disassemble it, at which point he looked over at Clint.

“You think I should put it back together?”

“Can you?”

“Usually takes twice as long to put something back together as it did to take it apart, but yeah.”

“Leave it,” Clint said decisively. “You have what you need?”

“I think so, but I’m really glad you said I don’t have to reassemble it, ‘cause I kinda want to take this bit home with me,” Tony admitted.

“What does it do?”

“I have no idea.”

***

Tony worked for four days without rest. He ate whatever could be eaten one-handed while working without making a mess. When JARVIS pleaded for intervention, Tony talked his way past both Bruce and Clint, promising he was almost done. 

“Sleep is a necessity,” Steve said in his quiet authoritative voice from the entrance to the lab. 

“Sleep is a human weakness to be overcome,” Tony replied. “I’ll sleep soon, I’m almost done.”

“You’ve been almost done for eighteen hours, according to Dr. Banner.”

“He’s not accounting for daylight savings time,” Tony assured Steve.

Steve looked at the clock on the wall. “Tony, that’s in March.”

“Exactly.”

Steve frowned. If Tony wasn’t making sense, there was no use in trying to convince him to take a break. “How much longer?”

“Three, four more hours tops,” Tony answered distractedly. 

“Okay. Four hours. Then you’re going to bed even if I have to carry you there.”

***

At three hours and fifty-four minutes, everyone had clustered around the door to the lab. Bruce was doing most of the work, following Tony’s instructions after the Tony kept dropping things when he couldn’t stop the tremors in his hands. 

“Time’s up,” Steve said firmly.

“We’re done,” Tony replied smugly. “I made you a bed, princess.” He grinned at Natasha, slurring his words slightly. 

What they had built looked to Clint like a tanning bed, but it reminded Steve of the Vita Ray chamber. 

“What does it do?” Natasha asked, she stepped into the lab and cautiously touched the smooth metal surface. 

“It makes you you again.”

“How?”

“Science!” Tony declared, laughing. “Okay, so the Hydra thingy emitted a burst of Valivov-Cherenkov radiation when it powered up, which reacted with the gene therapy regimen your doctor was putting you through, and caused you to revert to a specific point in the modifications that the Red Room - heh, redrum… that’s from the Shining, Steve, it’s a movie. Well, it was a book first.”

“How about you sleep first, explain later,” Steve suggested. 

“No, it is fine,” he enunciated. “Okay, sleep.” He grabbed Steve’s sleeve to steady himself as the super soldier led him out of the lab.

“You know how to use that?” Steve asked Bruce as he passed. Bruce nodded.

“Take care of our overworked genius,” Bruce remarked as he began fiddling with the device. “Miss Romanova, you can hop in whenever you’re ready.”

Natasha stared at the thing. “It looks like a casket,” she whispered. 

Bruce turned his attention to the girl. “We’ve run every test we can. It won’t hurt you.”

“What’s wrong?” Clint asked gently.

Natasha shook her head. “Nothing,” she answered, but her voice trembled. 

“Tasha?” Clint pressed.

“I don’t want to go back.” Her eyes were wet and shining as she backed away from the machine. She grabbed a spare piece of metal off the workbench and flung it at the machine in a flash of rage. “I won’t!”  
Bruce and Clint exchanged a look as she fled the lab. 

***

Bruce found Natasha in the gym, working at the barre to the soft steady tick of a metronome. She was poised and graceful as she executed plies and relevés with perfect form. It was eerie to watch her practice without music, her face as stoic as a doll’s. Her movements were smooth and fluid in a way that made her seem inhuman as she turned to face him. Her face lacked its customary composure and her hands fidgeted nervously once she stopped practicing. 

“I admit,” Bruce began, “I don’t know how you get from the girl you are now to the woman I met a year ago. Tony knows some of it, he hacked your file at SHIELD. Clint knows more, there’s a lot of blank space in that file. I accepted that you are what you are, the same way I am what I am.” 

“What am I?” Natasha asked. At Bruce’s puzzled look, she elaborated. “The woman you know, is she smart? Strong? Brave? Is she good?” Natasha smiled faintly. “Does she have a sense of humor? Is she well-read?”

“She’s smart,” Bruce answered. “And brave, definitely. Strong, I would agree with. Fierce. Fierce is a good word for her, for you. Doesn’t take no for an answer.”

“She’s stubborn?”

“Like a bull. Also, likeable.”

Natasha’s smile broadened at the bit of wordplay. 

“But she’d hate that pun, I think. Clint knows her best. Knows you best. I never know when you’re being genuine and when you’re trying to play me.” Bruce looked sheepish. “I don’t have a very good read on people. Not like you. You can read a man like a book from across…hell, probably from across state lines.”

“Am I happy?”

Bruce’s gaze dropped to the floor for a long moment. “You don’t have to do this,” he answered when he finally met her eyes again. “If you don’t want us to reverse the age regression, we won’t. Tony might be a little disappointed, but I can deal with him. We could get you a new identity, probably SHIELD-approved foster parents, enroll you in high school…”

“And what then?”

“You live a relatively normal life.” He touched her shoulder lightly. “You do all the things you never got to do.”

“And I don’t become an agent of SHIELD. Or an Avenger.”

“You get to have a choice in who you become,” Bruce replied. “You’ll always have friends here.”

“I don’t want to go back.”

“You’re not going back. You’re going forward.”

“What if that thing you built doesn’t work?” Natasha asked.

“Tony built it. Everything he builds works.”

“Okay.” Natasha picked up her shoes and headed back to the lab.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get better.

“Don’t try to get up right away,” Bruce said soothingly. “How do you feel?”

“Hungover,” Natasha grumbled. 

“Headache, nausea, photosensitivity” Bruce noted. 

“Dehydrated,” Natasha added.

“Let me get you some water.” Bruce stood up. “I’ll be right back,” he assured her as he left the lab. 

It was Clint who came back in with a glass of ice water that featured a neon pink straw. He handed it to her and sat down next to her, not looking at her and not speaking.

Natasha sipped the water. “I should’ve told you I was sick.”

“It’s your business,” Clint replied. 

“I didn’t want you to worry,” she explained.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“I always thought that my death would be quick. A blade, a bullet, an arrow,” she looked at him pointedly. 

“That can still be arranged,” he joked. 

“Three to six months is long enough to really fixate on your regrets, but not long enough to do anything about them.”

Clint felt his stomach clench. “Maybe you were right not to tell me.” He shook his head. “I can’t have a calm, rational discussion about you dying.”

“I’m not dying. At least, I’m pretty sure I’m not. Dr. Banner’s running the bloodwork.”

“So maybe something good came of the whole age regression thing?”

“Talk about the cure being worse than the disease,” Natasha replied. “But I feel…better.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “When Dr. Calum said three to six months and I started thinking about regrets, I started thinking about you.”

“You regret me?” Clint asked teasingly.

“That I never talked to you about how you make me feel and it wouldn’t be fair to do it with such a short timeline.”

“How I make you feel?” Clint was suddenly serious.

“And that I never kissed you, and again, wouldn’t be fair. Then fourteen year old me goes and kisses you which was even more unfair.”

He slid off his chair and positioned himself right in front of her, within kissing distance. “That was a little awkward,” he admitted. 

“I’m sorry.”

“You get some rest," Clint instructed.

***

“Lab results are in,” Natasha said casually. She slipped her arm around Clint’s waist, laying her head against the back of his shoulder.

“You make it hard to aim,” he grumbled, releasing the arrow he had in hand. 

Natasha peered around him at his target. “You didn’t miss.”

He set his bow down and turned to face her. She loosened her arms enough to let him and settled back in, snug against his chest. “If anyone else interrupted my range time, I’d put that arrow in their foot. So, what’s the verdict?” He studied her face. Her sudden-onset desire for physical affection was either good or very, very bad.

“Everything’s normal,” Natasha declared. “Well, normal for me, I had to help Bruce figure out some of the baselines, since Tony is once again barred from accessing my medical records without written consent.”

Clint winced. “How much did you scare him? He was trying to help.”

Natasha grinned toothily. “I think he’ll steer clear of me for at least a week and a half.”

Clint smiled. “And you’re really okay?”

Natasha nodded and burrowed in against his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Clint stroked her hair. “I forgive you. Just don’t, you know, do it again.”

He held her for a moment, closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her shampoo, almond extract and anise. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he admitted.

“You’d be fine,” Natasha replied. “That’s one of the things I like about you. You might want me around, but you don’t need me.” She looked up at him.

“Yeah? What else do you like about me?”

“Oh…” Natasha’s hand traveled down his back. “I can think of a few things.” Her hand dropped lower and she squeezed his ass. 

“It’s good to have you back,” Clint murmured. Not just back to her proper age but back in good health and high spirits, teasing and flirting. Clint wanted to linger in the moment but couldn’t quite bring himself to do so.

“We have a heretofore unspoken agreement,” he acknowledged, “Wherein I don’t ask about your past and you don’t ask about mine.”

“And it’s worked out pretty well for both of us thus far,” Natasha agreed.

“But I’ve recognized some of your triggers over the years, like the look of disgust in your eyes when you have to deal with human traffickers. I’ve seen – even though you’re careful not to let anyone see – the way you sort of brush yourself off after being touched. Any touch. I can’t stop thinking about what you said after you kissed me, the look on your face. If you ever want to talk, not just about your guilt and what you’ve done, but about the things that were done to you, I’ll listen. I’m not asking, but I know there’s so much you’re not saying. I want you to know that you can.”

Natasha didn’t look at Clint. She didn’t move away but her hands dropped away from his back and she stood in his lax embrace, silent, until he began to think he’d really stuck his foot in his mouth.  
“The Red Room,” Natasha cleared her throat,” ran a lot of their ops under the guise of prostitution. The targets were rich, powerful men; the operatives were young, beautiful girls. It was almost too easy. Sometimes it was just a ploy to get them alone for an assassination – only the most paranoid and perverse men would keep their bodyguards around. That was how my first kill went.” She withdrew from Clint’s embrace and pressed her back to the wall.

“Later missions sometimes meant seeing things through but by that time… sometimes the targets were gentler than my trainers had been. I forgot it was possible to want to be touched.” Natasha crossed her arms over her chest, wrapping her hands around her upper arms. “We were leaving a briefing a few years ago, just before heading to Budapest. Your hand brushed against mine as we walked down the hall.”

“Wait,” Clint interrupted. “Do you really remember the first time I touched you?”

“After that, I started finding excuses to be close to you, I didn’t think I’d end up loving you.”

“Do you?” Clint asked. “Love me?”

“No,” Natasha answered decisively. “You talk too much, you leave your dirty socks on the floor and you load the dishwasher like it’s a game of Tetris.”

“I get all the dishes in there,” Clint objected.

“But none of them get clean. You have to let the water reach the surfaces,” Natasha replied. “And I can’t sleep when you’re not around.”

“How is that last one my fault?”

“You made me feel this way.” 

“What way?”

“Safe.”

When Natasha kissed him, Clint didn’t pull away. He didn’t push her away. He stayed and kissed her back.


End file.
